Caffeine Cleanse, or the Worst 24 Hours of My Life
by Jim Maher
I can’t think.
I can’t see straight.
My sons were up at six and it took them half an hour to wake me up.
No caffeine for thirty days. I think that’s how they torture people in Colombia. At least one of the ways.
Isn’t caffeine supposed to be good for the brain? What if I’m sacrificing my brain in order for my body to stop producing so much cortisol, thereby decreasing my soggy mid-section?
So, I’ll be the fittest dude wandering around the Fun Room at the seniors’ centre, staring out the window and roaring ‘Bring out the cowboys! It’s time for mayonnaise!’
I’ve been off the junk for only two days, and I can see just why coffee is such a massive business. It makes sense why Vancouver had those two Starbucks shops kitty corner to each other.
These dirty beanrunners have got us by the short and curlies, ladies and gentlemen. They make it taste so good. We associate a well-started day with our first cup of the blackjuice. Add any number of twizzles, flavours, and accoutrements, and you’ve got yourself the golden goose.
So, think of me while sipping on your java of choice this fine morning. I’ll be scratching out my eyes trying to get the ladybugs to stop swingdancing on my gallbladder.